Sherlock and John  Drabbles
by A Servant To Mischief
Summary: Just a collection of 'scenes we'd like to see' R&R I do not own Sherlock or any of its affiliates. Rated M for adult content. WARNING. Contains slash. If you don't like. Don't Read. Sherlock/John
1. Moonlight Moments

Well if you're a Sherlock fan on BBC1 you'll understand where my inspiration for this is coming from. I guess I've always had an affinity with the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, some say its friendship, others say there's something more. With the shockingly large amount of innuendo between John and Sherlock in the latest series of _Sherlock _then one would expect more than a plutonic relationship between these two men. But here's my interpretation of a few scenes we'd all like to see. If you're not a slash lover, then don't read. If you don't know what slash is then...oh, here (guy on guy - gay, basically) but if you are a lover of all things slash then please, feel free to read and comment.

_John and Sherlock walked along the abandoned railway in silence. Content in each other's company, the night was dark and the moon slipped in and out of the clouds, casting sweeping shadows across the sky. In John's opinion moonlight was like liquid silk...he'd tried to explain this feeling to Sherlock before but the other man had just brushed it off. He had no time for poetic expression or the solar system for that matter. But that was another tale for another time. Their footsteps echoed as the gravel was crushed by the soles of their feet. John's mind began to wonder as he cast fleeting glances at Sherlock. The curl of his hair, the smoothness of his skin, the sharp blue of his eyes and the leanness of his frame. John had the sudden urge to reach out and run his finger over Sherlock's face. He felt his arm begin to move but quickly snapped it down._

_ "Why are looking at me John? Is there something wrong?" Sherlock's rich voice was clear against the night. Although it was dark, John still turned his head away to hide the flush that was spreading up his cheeks. He wrung his hands together nervously, swallowing and trying to think up an answer._

_ "I'm not - nothing's wrong." Sherlock laughed._

_ "Then if nothing's wrong, why are you blushing?" John's breath caught in his throat. He tried to remain calm and stop his heart pounding in his ears. Throughout this the pair had continued walking and as they reached the railway bridge John stopped. Sherlock slowed his pace and stopped in front of the other man. A train passed over head, its headlights illuminating the face of Sherlock through the gaps in the bridge. John frowned as concern flickered across Sherlock's features. This expression was one rarely seen on his face but little did John know that it was an expression he would soon learn to love on this man's features. Sherlock took a step forward, forcing John backwards until his back connected with the wall. Sherlock took one more step and the pair were face to face. Close enough to kiss, even. John's heart beat faster and faster. He took a breath in and he could taste Sherlock. At the start, John had been the one in control of the situation but now Sherlock was the controller. He placed one hand above John's shoulder, gently pinning him to the wall. He leant his head forward and his curls brushed against John's forehead. John shivered, realising all he had to do was tilt his head up and their lips would be touching. Before he could take another stolen breath, Sherlock's lips were on his. John's whole body tensed but he relaxed almost instantly. Pleasure coursed through John's body and he could feel that Sherlock was feeling the same way. There was such tenderness and care in the kiss but pushing through was the lust, passion and relief of their meeting. Sherlock stopped kissing him almost as soon as he had begun. He pushed off the wall and looked at John with his head cocked on one side. _

_ "Now, why where you blushing again?" John's knees went weak and he sank a few inched down the wall. Sherlock extended a gloved hand to the other man and John reached out and took it. Together finally. One unasked question answered with a kiss. One statement that never needed to be said – "I love you" was said in that moment. _


	2. What Lies Underneath

What Lies Underneath...

John lay in bed that night. The tips of his fingers still tingled and blood still pounded in his ears. Why hadn't he said anything sooner? Sherlock was downstairs, dragging out notes of the violin. He stretched his arms out and tucked them behind his head. The violin playing stopped instantly. There were footsteps and then a crash from downstairs and the sound of a gunshot. John leapt out of bed like a ninja. He ran out of his room and vaulted down the stairs to find a crumpled Sherlock at the bottom. A revolver in his hand and a bullet hole in the wall.

"SHERLOCK!" John's voice cracked as he jumped the last five stairs

Sherlock picked his head up and smiled dazedly at John.

"What's wrong?" John laughed and offered a hand to the crumpled man. Sherlock took it and hauled himself up, rubbing his head.

"Why did you fall down the stairs?" Sherlock laughed.

"Well...I thought someone was at the door. And I ran downstairs...and sort of fell, pulling the trigger at the same time." John sighed, shaking his head. He wrapped a comforting arm around Sherlock, helping him up the stairs. Sherlock snaked an arm around John's waist. As the pair made it shakily back up to Sherlock's flat. There was a knock on the door. Sherlock whipped round, all traces of concussion gone. John turned as the door was kicked off its hinges. At this point, the great Sherlock Holmes, fearless in all situations – fell to the ground. His eyes rolled back in his head and he lay unconscious on the floor. John swallowed as he stared at the man in front of him. It was two in the morning. And a man as tall as a building stood stooped in the doorway. John frowned. This was...John tried to recall the name as the pair stood in silence facing each other. The Golem! John swore, and the man 'leapt' forward. John dropped and missed the fist hurtling towards him. The other man's curled fist connected with the wall, taking a chunk of plaster and brick out of the wall. John's mouth fell open.

"SHERLOCK! For God's sake man! WAKE UP!" John desperately tried to drag Sherlock up the stairs, but the man's weight was too much to bear. So, John turned round and faced the Golem. No words needed to be said. Just a clean fight. Suddenly there was click of a gun. Time froze. John heard the grind of mechanisms just by his left ear, and a deafening shot blasted past his face. The bullet hit the Golem right in-between his eyes, shattering his skull and leaving him dead on the doormat.

"What on earth is going on!" John and the now conscious Sherlock winced and turned round in unison. Mrs Hudson stood at the top of the stairs, a look of pure horror on her face at the dead body on the floor, the fist shape in the wall and the broken door and shattered glass. Sherlock smiled graciously.

"A mild ambush Mrs Hudson, nothing to worry about. The police will be here to clean up in a few moments." He paused dramatically, and all three of them heard the wail of police sirens. John followed Sherlock up the stairs.

"...this will go on your rent young man!" Mrs Hudson's voice echoed back into her flat. Sherlock smiled and flopped on the sofa in their flat. John sighed and sat down on the nearest chair, which quivered and proceeded to collapse, leaving John rather ungracefully positioned on the floor. John laughed, and then discovered he couldn't stop. Soon Sherlock's warm voice joined the mix and the pair howled with laughter for at least ten minutes. Finally, John managed to sit up, wheezing for breath and wiping tears from his eyes. He opened his eyes to find Sherlock lying next to him. They both turned to look at each other. And they found their lips meeting – for the second time this week. The sound of Lestrade's voice catapulted the men apart like a bullet. They rolled over and sat up, scrambling onto the nearest chair. John desperately tried to straighten his crumpled jumper and Sherlock just sat and smiled. Lestrade shoved the door open, in a desperate attempt to be intimidating. Then he remembered who he was talking and his facade vanished.

"Sherlock. I should of known. Reports of a tall stranger wondering down Baker Street, un-announced gun fire and a lot of shouting. Coincidentally - of your name. Care to explain?" Sherlock raised a lazy eyebrow.

"John and I were attacked in our own home by an old enemy. I went to shoot him but was knocked unconscious. Then as far as I am aware (whilst I was blacked out on the stairs) John fought the man. I managed to regain some sense towards the end of this ordeal and shoot the man in the forehead. And as you can see..." Sherlock gestured down the stairs "he is dead. That, Lestrade is all there is to it." John was holding back hysterics, and could see that Sherlock was struggling to retain composure. Lestrade cocked his head to one side,

"What is the matter with you to?" That was it. The flood gates opened and John and Sherlock stood and cried with laughter. Adrenaline, passion, excitement and pure shock all mixed together to render these two men speechless and howling with laughter. John finally managed to calm himself. And by gripping the door frame and cradling his side politely asked the detective to remove the body and leave them be. Lestrade nodded and began yelling orders as he descended the flight of stairs. John began to laugh again as he heard Mrs Hudson's nagging that she couldn't possibly cope with the site of a dead giant on her doorstep and they must remove it at once. John looked at Sherlock, tears streaming down his face. John covered the meter of space between them, grabbed his jacket and crushed his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John. They scrabbled at each others clothes and John finally got to place his worn hands on Sherlock's untouched, perfect, milky white chest. Acting on impulse and without thinking Sherlock reached down and put his hands at the front of John's trousers, fumbling to undo the belt buckle. At the same instant again without thinking, John placed his hands on either side of Sherlock's face and kissed him, fiercely. Sherlock kissed him back, their tongues fighting, as John's trousers became loose, and he shook them to the floor. Breaking away from the kiss, their chests heaving with breath, the two struggled to remove their clothes. John lifted his arms, pulling off his beige jumper and t-shirt, revealing his body. It had gone to sea after his time in the army, the muscles still visible but not as prominent as they had once been. His body was tanned compared to Sherlock's, who stood before John, glorious in an open shirt and black trousers. Sherlock's lips were suddenly all over John's chest, tasting him and following the contours. He could feel John's heart beating madly against his ribs with arousal. The white shirt around Sherlock's shoulders fell to the ground, and John grabbed feverishly at his trousers, undoing the zip and button, pulling them down so that both men were standing almost naked in the middle of the room. John languidly wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, deepening the kiss. John guided Sherlock to the sofa and they hurriedly laid down, curling limbs around each other, and two men became a tangled, sweaty mass of passion and lust. They scrabbled at each other's boxers and they lay, pressed against each other completely naked. Face to face. Breathing in time and hearts racing to some exotic internal rhythm. And then the magic was broken. The door to their flat opened. And Mrs. Hudson stepped through the door carrying a tray with two cups of tea on it. She gasped and John and Sherlock looked up. Mrs. Hudson smiled,

"I'll leave you to it dears..." and she walked out. John looked back at Sherlock. The passion gone. The arousal. Gone. Sherlock got off John and sat back. He just lay there. Completely calm and bathed in moonlight. John shook his head, his cheeks glowing with embarrassment.

"Just pretend this never happened..." John left. Gathered up his clothes and went to his room. He sat and watched the clock tick by. The digital numbers flicked by. Leaving an eerie red glow in the room. John shook his head and lay back on his pillows. Now he knew what was underneath that suit...


	3. Skinny Dipping

**What really should of happened - based on 'The Great Game' Oh how cute are they? .**

"Sherlock! Sherlock! SHERLOCK!" Sherlock Holmes ripped the bomb lined puffer jacket off John Watson's shoulders and flung across the swimming pool. John's knees quivered under his weight. He fell back against the wall, sinking to the floor. Sherlock rushed back to him.

"Whoa...Sherlock. Ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool? People might talk?" Sherlock smiled as he placed his hands on either side of John's face.

"Don't they already?" Sherlock kissed John. Kissed him to tell him he loved him. Kissed him to bring back the feelings from last night. John pushed him away, shaking with shock. And then pulled him back again. They stood there for a long moment comforted by each other's embrace. And suddenly out of the blue. Sherlock shifted his weight backwards and dragged both of them into the swimming pool. John managed a strangled yell at Sherlock as they leapt backwards into the icy water. Had Sherlock never realised that John had a fear of water? John fought against his clothes, against the weight of the water and against Sherlock's roaming hands. John's head broke the surface and he gasped for breath, desperately paddling to the edge. He grabbed the side of the pool trying so hard to drag himself out. Suddenly, strong and reassuring arms wound their way around his waist. There was gentle whispering in his ear. John relaxed slightly even though the biting cold was numbing his core. John's jaw trembled with cold, and he managed to turn himself around. Sherlock's eyes were lit up with a mischievous glint, clearly reminiscent of his childhood. John rested his head against Sherlock's.

"I...h-hate...you...r-right now..." Sherlock smiled and placed a gentle, trembling kiss on John's lips. They dragged themselves out of the pool. Wrapped drunken arms around each other and made their way home. Dripping, cold and shaking.

_Several hours later._

John ran his fingers through the bath water. The heat melted into him, and he sunk a few inches deeper into the water. There was a gentle knock on the bathroom door. John looked up and hurriedly scooped the remaining bubbles closer to cover up and protect his modesty. The door opened and Sherlock walked in with just a towel wrapped round his waist. John blushed as his body provided the most basic of reactions. Sherlock smiled, and let the towel drop. John stared. Sherlock's body was perfect. Un blemished, untouched skin. Smooth and perfect. John let his eyes wonder from his face, down his neck, his chest. Down the muscles of his abdomen to his hips and the dark curl of hair that lead down from the man's belly button. Sherlock slid into the bath alongside John. A sigh escaped his lips as the water engulfed him. Sherlock took hold of John's hands and wrapped the man's arms around his waist. They sat there for at least half an hour, enjoying the warmth and the comfort. John occasionally placed gentle kisses on Sherlock's shoulders, making the other man shiver with pleasure. They both knew what they wanted, but were too scared to cross that boundary. They'd come so close last night, so why couldn't they again? That night, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson shared a bed. And there were _no _interruptions.


	4. Early Morning

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**Okay, I admit it, this is disgracefully short and I should know better – but school's been hectic and I'm violently running out of ideas! Please, I make a universal plea to all you hardened slash readers! A fellow writer is in need of help! URGENTLY! Pweety pwease? Thank you for the reviews so far, but PLEASE keep reading. I love you all! Miss Blaize Carpentire and Mr Samson Cachantios x.x**

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John and Sherlock lay next to each other, limbs tangled amongst the bed sheets and chests rising slowly. It was a lazy Saturday morning but they both knew that crime never sleeps. Suddenly there was a loud rapping on the front door, the click of the latch and Lestrade's voice drifted up the stairs. John and Sherlock sat up and launched themselves out of bed, picking up their clothes and diving into their separate bedrooms. John emerged seconds later, clothes crumpled and hurriedly fastening his belt buckle and Sherlock appeared mere moments afterwards, shirt half buttoned up and his black curls in disarray. Lestrade stopped mid stride to stare at the two men. John tried to fight down the glow that was spreading to his cheeks and sheepishly walked off to the kitchen to "make a cuppa" Sherlock continued to button up his shirt and ran his fingers through his hair. Lestrade cleared his throat.

"Sherlock, hope I'm not disturbing anything?" Sherlock smiled.

"No, not at all Detective. Something the matter?" Lestrade rubbed his hands together and took a breath before Sherlock cut across.

"There's been a murder and you need my help?" Lestrade coughed as his words caught in his throat. John came back into the living room.

"Tea anyone?" Sherlock took the cup, shivering slightly as John's hand brushed his. He glanced sideways and caught the man's eye. A fleeting glance with a hidden meaning. John turned an even deeper shade of red and turned away. Lestrade appeared to realise there was something up with the two men and took the cue to leave.

"Sherlock. John. I'll see you at the lab. Oh and Sherlock, check with Molly, she's got something to talk to you about." Lestrade jogged down the stairs. Not a floorboard creaked. He shut the door and drove off. Back upstairs, Sherlock and John were having a staring contest. John had turned round as soon as the front door had slammed and grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his jacket. They came so close. Face to face. Their noses brushed. John closed his eyes and leant his forehead against Sherlock's. Sherlock smiled.

"John Watson, I love you." John took a sharp breath in as shivers ran down his body. Those words, that accent. The way his lips shaped the sounds.

"Sherlock Holmes, I love you too."


	5. A Little Surprise

**Well...thanks to TheGullibleOne i have had a flash of assited inspiration and...TA DA! *jazz hands* here it is! Read, review and enjoy - any more ideas are most welcome! Miss Blaize Carpentire x.x**

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Sherlock pushed past the reams of policemen, pushed past the yellow tape, snapped on a pair of gloves and – ignoring Lestrade's protests – walked into the living room of the unfortunate victim. Mr George Benson was hanging from the elaborate chandelier in his living room. His mouth was slack, his eyes wide and glassy. A line of blood made its way down his dead face from an ugly gun wound in his forehead.

"Murder. Obviously. An excessive amount of money, but not in a happy marriage. Bills and debts behind the mantel piece clock. Signs of self harm, but no obvious reason why. Extremely pristine house – either a cleaner or a very house proud wife..." Sherlock continued to ramble, pulling apart the man's life. John smiled and continued to listen, smiling into the distance. Suddenly Sherlock's voice brought him back to earth.

"John...John...JOHN! Focus man! So how do you think he died?" John caught the well placed wink sent his way, the kind that promised things if he did well. John cleared his throat and paced round the body, his doctors brain taking over.

"Hmm...well obvious cause of death? gunshot to the middle of the head. Then hung. But why? Died around six hours ago, but I'd need liver temperature to be sure. The scars on his arms are old, happened when he was much younger. But if you look closely, there are track marks on his upper right arm. That would then suggest this man was left handed, but if you look around the house, everything suggest extreme right-handed tendencies." Sherlock stood, mouth open. Horrified that he'd missed something.

"Right, John. Let's go and check upstairs – just to make sure." Lestrade waved them ahead, not suspecting a thing. They reached the spare bedroom and stepped in. As soon as John crossed the threshold, strong hands grabbed the front of his shirt and passionate lips forced themselves on his. They fought at each other's clothes, dragging each other down. They should have heard the click of the lock. They should have heard the footsteps. They should have heard the sniggering. But all they could hear was their heartbeats drumming in their ears. It was fast and over quick, but before long they were starting again. Two bodies, two hearts. One soul and one love. Brought together. And again, they should have heard the footsteps up the stairs. They should have heard the rattling of the door handle and the scrape of a pen knife. They also should have heard the creak of the door hinges. But the only thing the two men heard was Anderson's horrified gasp. Sherlock looked up as did John and the pair went slack jawed and just stared. John blushed bright red and grabbed his clothes, stuffing them over himself to try and regain some modesty. Sherlock just sighed and began to pull his clothes off.

"What Anderson – never seen two men kiss before? And you must have seen two people have sex – you and Sally do it. Frequently." Anderson scowled, slammed the door shut and left the to it. John groaned.

"That's it. It's out in the open. Work will never be the same..." Sherlock turned to him and wrapped his arms around John's waist – gently kissing his nose.

"So what Dr Watson? They talk already – what difference does it make?" Sherlock straightened his shirt, took John's hand and opened the bedroom door. The pair of them walked down the stairs – one after another, walking straight out the front door without even a goodbye. They ignored the horrified looks from the detectives and police officers. And they even missed the smug smile from the woman in the corner of the room. Most unlike Sherlock to miss something. But maybe he didn't want to notice...


	6. Do You Have To Go!

**Now this is where it gets interesting? You might of picked up from the last chapter that there is a little bit of a story coming through...if you like it - please say so - and if you dont? Well...I'll send Sherlock and John to come and get you...mwhahahaha..*cough* I hope you like it, it's taken me almost two weeks to write this - SERIOUS writers block..**

**R&R Miss Blaize Carpentire x.x**

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"Do you have to go?" Sherlock whined. He was sat cross-legged on the sofa in his pyjamas and looking a spoilt toddler. His arms were crossed and his bottom lip was quivering slightly – John could tell he was on the edge of shooting something. So he stepped forwards and picked up the hand pistol. Sherlock frowned and flopped back into a laying position – the cushions strewn about him. John smiled at him and sat down next to Sherlock, cradling the other man's head in his hands.

"Yes Sherlock, I do have to go. I get the chance to meet up with some friends I haven't seen in years! And some went through army training with me! As much as I'd like to invite you – it's army personnel only. You'll be okay..." Sherlock cut across him.

"But I'm so bored! And I'll miss you!" John sighed, shaking his head. He cupped a hand under Sherlock's chin and kissed him. It was gentle and tender but Sherlock pulled him closer deepening the kiss. Bearing in mind at this point – John was in a dinner jacket and bow tie. John tried to resist he really did, but the pull of the great Sherlock Holmes was too strong. Suddenly the grandfather clock chimed five and John sat bolt upright as there was the honk of a taxi outside. John left one last kiss on Sherlock's nose, ruffled his hair and – straightening his clothes – left. Sherlock got up and pressed his forehead against the glass window pane, watching the taxi pull away. Sherlock never realised how much he missed John until he was gone. They were the perfect pair. Laurel and Hardy, Morecombe and Wise, Holmes and Watson. They were the perfect lovers. The right amount of respect for each other, and all the love and passion each one craved. Sherlock sank back onto the sofa, savouring the feeling of John's last, fleeting kiss.

_Several hours later..._

The front door to 221 Baker Street slammed shut and drunken singing made its way up the stairs. Sherlock sat up, having not moved from the sofa since John left. He ran down to the stairs to find John completely drunk at the bottom. Sherlock cursed. He wrapped an arm around John's waist and hauled him up. He reeked of alcohol, but Sherlock held the man at arm's length and looked at his eyes. John's pupils were dilated, and he seemed extremely spaced out. John looked at Sherlock and worry and fear crept into his eyes. Suddenly he lashed out at Sherlock, punching him across the face. He sunk against the wall, clawing at the door – mumbling incoherently and making almost animalistic noises. Sherlock pulled himself up, nursing his bust lip. He tried to reach out to John again and just missed the well aimed fist. He grabbed the nearest phone and dialled 999. John had been drugged – and for once – Sherlock didn't have a clue what to do. The operator picked up after two rings.

"999, what's your emergency?"

"An ambulance – please my boyfriend's been drugged!" Sherlock felt fear rise in his chest, almost making him gag.

"Could you tell me where you are please sir?" Although the operator had a calming voice, Sherlock was still panicking. John was working his way towards the door handle...still growling and mumbling.

"221 Baker Street, please, please hurry!" The woman told him to keep calm and explain John's symptoms..."Umm...his pupils are dilated, he's sweating and mumbling. He keeps lashing out and is extremely distressed. This isn't a plea anymore – this is a matter of urgency! Get the ambulance here now!" The ambulance came within minutes. Mrs Hudson stood at the top of the stairs in her dressing gown, sighing and worrying. Sherlock was giving out orders, but you could hear the worry and panic in his voice. John was rushed to hospital and Sherlock was right behind.

John lay in a hospital bed. He was attached to a miscellaneous collection of drips and machines. The monotonous sound of the beeping woke the man from his drug induced slumber. John sat bolt upright and fell back almost immediately. Suddenly gentle arms were around his shoulders and soft lips on his cheek. John turned his head, fighting off the nausea. He expected to find Sherlock, but he found himself staring into the eyes of his sister Harriet. John backed up, as his sister settled into the chair beside his bed.

"Harry! What are you doing?"

"John! You've been drugged; I got an anonymous text saying you'd been admitted to hospital with a drug overdose. And there was the address. We might have fallen out, but I still care about you! You're my brother for God's sake!"

"Sherlock..." Then John realised. Where was he?

"Where is he? Harry have you seen a tall man with curly black hair?" John's voice rose and he realised he was panicking. His sister looked so confused. She stood up, reaching out to John. But panic had taken over. Everything went black and John slumped against his pillows. He didn't hear his phone ringing. Or here the continual beep of his phone as he received message after message. He had no conscious idea that the world's only consulting detective...well...who knew? The shadow that passed by the door to John's private bay did. The voice that talked to the doctors outside breathed lies – but it still knew...


End file.
